


MUTABLE

by Mikkeneko



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders can take care of himself, Dragon Age II Spoilers, He can crush a man with his mind Hawke, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Hawke, WITH HIS MIND, bonus Skyhold epilogue, fun with magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4065298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkeneko/pseuds/Mikkeneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For as long as Hawke has known him, Anders has shown an extraordinary ability to get in and out of places he shouldn't. It's all part of the charm of dating a dangerous apostate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In retrospect, Hawke thinks, he ought to have figured it out much earlier. But then, there were a lot of things he hadn't realized about Anders until it was too late.

* * *

1 -  **Darktown**  -

Rumors travelled fast in Darktown when its inhabitants wanted them to: The Templars had raided the clinic again.

They'd hit the place many times before, but never managed to corner the healer within. Tonight was no exception. A few of them were still above, ransacking the clinic and smashing everything within - not that there was really much there to break - but the majority of them were down the hatch into the sewers, crashing around the fetid tunnels hunting for their elusive prey.

Hawke watched them, concealed in the shadows under a rickety wooden staircase, with (thankfully, normal-sized) spiders spinning webs inches from his nose. This was the only way out of this part of Darktown; if they did manage to catch the apostate, they'd have bring him past this point. If that happened, Hawke would do... something. If they didn't find him, he wouldn't have to do anything, and that would probably be better for everyone all around.

He didn't plan to take on the entire order of Templars himself - and he had no intention of drawing attention back to his family, to Bethany - but Anders was a friend, and he did good work. Important work, helping the Ferelden refugees, helping the poor and sick of Kirkwall. More good than the templars were doing, that was for certain. What had Anders ever done to be dragged off like a criminal, locked up or executed or worse just for wanting to be free? Hawke had no intention of letting that happen.

In the end, it turned out he needn't have worried. After hours of blundering about, the Templars finally gave up and retreated out the way they had come, clanking discolantly and with their no-longer-so-shiny plate stinking of refuse. Hawke waited till they had all gone before he moved towards the clinic, keeping his steps stealthy. He needn't have bothered; the Templars didn't have the subtlety to leave a guard posted for whoever might come back. They came, they smashed things up, and they left empty-handed.

Hawke stood in the ruined clinic for a moment, staring around and arguing with himself, before he took a deep breath and dropped down the hatch into the damp tunnels that ran beneath the floor. The Templars hadn't exactly seemed jubilant or victorious on their way out, but Hawke still had to check, still had to make sure that they hadn't cut Anders down and left his body in the sewage. At the very least, if he found Anders he could tell them that the Templars had gone and it was safe to come back up.

Not that Hawke was having any better luck at tracking the missing apostate than the Templars had. Hawke muttered quiet curses under his breath, hunting back and forth across the mucky ground for a trail. Tracks in this mess ought to be perfectly visible for any half-decent rogue to follow - and Hawke was more than half decent - but it seemed like the mage's bootprints got to a certain point and then just vanished, as though he'd ceased to exist.

The longer Hawke searched, the more uneasy he became; there was a reason the sewer tunnels were abandoned by even the most desperate of Darktown inhabitants. They ran into natural cavern systems hollowed out deep within the cliff Kirkwall stood on, and those caves were the breeding grounds for any number of light-avoidant species that were all too happy to snack on humans. It was the real reason the Templars had to break off their search every time, and why they didn't just post a guard down here permanently: the giant spiders made it too dangerous.

Of course, too dangerous for the Templars made it too dangerous for anyone else, either, and Hawke began to feel a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Oh, Maker, what if the reason Anders had vanished so thoroughly was that the spiders had  _taken_ him? Hawke was going to have to go into their lair and cut open every one of those disgusting cocoons, just to make sure that none of them -

A movement out of the corner of his eye brought Hawke to full alertness, something low and dark and scuttling. Hawke gripped one of his throwing daggers, took a deep breath, and whirled around, preparing to pin the repulsive insect against the nearest wall -

\- and then stumbled a step backwards, knife jerking harmlessly to the side, when Anders flinched back and held up his hand in surrender. "Hawke, don't! It's me!" Anders exclaimed.

Hawke let out a slow, shaky exhale. "Andraste's breath, you gave me a scare," he exclaimed. "Thank goodness you're safe. I thought for sure one of those spiders had got you."

Anders gave Hawke a funny look, one which he couldn't quite decipher. "No, I'm quite all right," he said. "I can handle myself down here. Don't worry about me."

"Ah." Hawke nodded knowingly. "Right, Justice, of course. Anyway. I just came down to tell you that the coast was clear - the Templars are gone."

Anders sighed, part relief and part weary upset. "I don't suppose they left anything in one piece," he muttered.

"Well, not so much," Hawke admitted. "But if you're ready to be done with the tunnels and the slime and the dark and the spiders and all, we could head back up. I'll help you clean up, and see if Lirene has any castoffs we can use to redecorate the place."

"Thank you," Anders said, surprised and touched by the offer. "Sooner started, sooner done, I suppose."

The two men turned and walked together towards the sewer entrance, towards higher ground. Hawke, when he glanced at the tunnel floor behind them, was not sure whether to be relieved or even more baffled that he could now see two perfectly normal sets of bootprints in the mud.

* * *

2 -  **Wounded Coast-**

There was a reason, Hawke reflected, that the Wounded Coast was the favored hideout for outlaws of all kinds - from runaway mages to bandits to Tevinter slaver gangs. Unfortunately, the prey they were after today was one of the latter kind.

Crows cawed in stunted, wind-twisted trees as they passed beneath the barren white boughs. Centuries of harsh winds and pounding surf had carved the cliffs of the Wounded Coast into something resembling a labyrinth, twisted interconnecting channels of stone. It was a big band they were after - a dozen slaver thugs and half that many kidnap victims - but even with a gang that size the hard, barren stone made tracking their prey almost impossible.

Hawke wasn't especially worried about the odds - he had faith in his friends to take down much bigger threats each alone, let alone all together - but he was worried about the time. The slavers' ship was supposed to come in to meet them at high tide, and if they didn't find them before then, there would be no rescues.

They'd made camp in a sandy inlet with more scraggly grass than the rest, to eat and drink and rethink their strategy. Hawke's mind was too occupied with thoughts of the angry and grieving parents he would face if this mission failed, so it was Merrill who noticed it first.

"Where's Anders?" Merrill asked.

"Around somewhere. Isn't he?" Hawke glanced up, looked around. "I assumed he was just answering nature's call."

"Nature's call?" Merrill's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "But he's not even an elf, let alone a Keeper. Why would he know that spell?"

"He means the mage went for a piss," Fenris answered her.

"Oh. Oh!" Merrill blinked. "Well, then why not just say that? There's nothing wrong with that. We all do it. I mean, I assume we all do it. I don't actually know that humans... but you just said Anders was, so I guess that means yes, humans do it."

Hawke glanced around, a frown pulling at his lips; there was no sign of the feathered apostate, and now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen him in a while. "When did you last see him?" he asked sharply. The kidnappers had targeted children with mage blood in the family or who had shown signs of talent - their blood was the most valuable to the Tevinter magisters, after all, for both casting and breeding. What they would do for a captive of Anders' talents...

"Didn't  _anybody_  see where he went?" Hawke exclaimed. The two elves exchanged looks, then shrugs and headshakes. Hawke gripped the hilt of his dagger in his hand, frowning. "How in the Void does he  _do_ that? Can he turn himself invisible, or what?"

"Oh, no, that's impossible," Merrill told him earnestly. "There isn't any magic that can make you invisible - if it did, you'd be blind, because the light would go right through your eyes without stopping! The closest thing there is to it is spells that make people just not see you, but you need to use blood magic for that, and it only works on the people whose minds you're directly enslaving -"

Fenris made a noise in the back of his throat that was half growl, half retch, and Merrill broke off her helpful explanation. " - but I'm sure that's not what's going on here, since Anders would never do something like that to his friends," Merrill concluded lamely.

"Really, Hawke," Fenris gave him a dry look. "You don't need to mother-hen him so much. He can  _crush a man_ with his _mind_ , remember? And even if he couldn't, there's the issue of his... passenger."

Hawke bit his tongue on a sharp retort; in Fenris-speak, that was almost... reassuring. Plus, he was right. But that didn't make Hawke any happier to have Anders out of his sight in unfriendly territory. What if he was being held captive somewhere  _right now,_  Justice subdued by some weird blood magic, waiting for Hawke and the others to come to his rescue...

Before he could work himself into any more of a frenzy, though, Anders reappeared, stepping out from behind a pillar of rock. Three gazes pinned him and he stopped in his tracks.

"Where have you been?" Hawke demanded.

"We've wasted too much time waiting for you," Fenris added ungraciously.

"We were worried about you!" Merrill chimed in.

"I'm... sorry about that," Anders said, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. "I was scouting ahead. I found the slavers' camp."

Fenris stared at him in disbelief. "  _You_  were scouting?" he said scornfully.

"Yes," Anders said defiantly. "Give me a piece of paper and I'll show you."

Merrill produced some parchment and a half-burned stick from the fire, and much to Hawke's surprise, Anders quickly produced a detailed sketch of their camp, the slavers' camp, and the surrounding mazelike passages.

"Wow, Anders!" Merrill chirped. "You got all this information so quickly? That's amazing!"

"More like  _unlikely_ ," Fenris said. He gave Anders a cold, suspicious glower. "There's no way you were gone long enough to map these canyons this thoroughly, let alone get to the slaver's hideout and back. Unless you already knew where you were going?"

"Have you got something to say, Fenris?" Anders demanded, tone brittle.

"I'm saying that I'm not convinced you aren't leading us into a trap,  _mage_ , " Fenris folded his arms over his chest. "You've made your preference for the Tevinter lifestyle clear often enough."

"Excuse me? You're actually suggesting that I'd help a group of thugs drag off a bunch of kids in chains just because they're got a little magic in them?" Anders demanded. "Are we talking about  _me_  here, or  _you_? You've made your own hatred of magekind clear enough -"

Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose against an incipient headache, and sighed. And to think, he'd specifically asked Fenris and Anders to come along on this mission together in hopes that they would finally bond. Fenris hated slavers. Anders hated mages being abused. This  _ought_  to have been the opportunity for them to find some common ground, right?

Wrong. "All right, children, both of you settle down," Hawke said, putting on his best authority-voice, the one he'd used to separate Bethany and Carver when their squabbles got too heated.

"Fenris, apologize for accusing Anders of being a child-selling dickbag." Fenris crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, muttering something too low to make out. "Anders, thank you for the maps,  _however_  you got them. But you shouldn't have gone off by yourself. You're exactly the sort of person these monsters are targeting, it was too dangerous -"

"I can take care of myself, Hawke," Anders snapped, at the same time an exasperated Fenris shouted "He can take care of himself, Hawke!"

Finally,  _something_  on which they could agree. Hawke stood up, and retrieved his pack from the stone it had been resting against. "Fine," he said. "Then enough standing around bickering; let's find that slavers' camp as quickly as we can. We have some righteous murdering to do."

"Yay, murder!" Merrill cheered. "I... oh. Should I have not cheered about that?"

The glorious life of a Champion.

* * *

3 -  **Somewhere in the Planasene Forest-**

It had been four days since they'd fled Kirkwall, and three days since they'd last eaten - the meat bun Hawke had stuffed in his sleeve that fateful morning had been the only supplies they'd brought between them. The Planasene forest was a wild tract of rocks and trees stretching up to the foothills of the Vimmarck Mountains, devoid of towns or farmsteads - that was why they'd chosen it, after all. It wasn't as though they could stop on the way for lunch. Their only neighbors were lean shadows flitting between the distant trees, the only voices the faraway howling of wolves in the night.

Hawke felt like he ought to be doing something about this - figuring out a way to get back to civilization or scrounging food from the land or something, but he'd been a farm boy, not a ranger. His limbs felt slow and heavy and his head might have been stuffed with cotton for all the use he was getting out of it.

At least they had a fire. That was something. They'd cleared a space at the bottom of a rocky dell where no light from their campfire would show to anyone looking for it, and in the dark no one would see the smoke. Hawke had gathered fallen branches and Anders had lit them. See. That was teamwork, that was. Partnership.

A twig snapped under a boot, and Hawke started somewhat from his glazed contemplation of the dancing flames to see Anders walking back to the campsite. Hawke hadn't even realized he'd been gone, and that more than anything else warned him of how out of it he was. Anders looked like Hawke felt, like he'd aged ten years in four days; dark eyes and grey skin like he was teetering on the very precipice of his Calling.

"Here," Anders said; it was not until he stopped by the fire and held out his arms did it register that he was carrying something. A long mess of fur dangled from his hands; in death, it was hard to recognize the gangly shapeless form as a hare, the kind that Apostate always used to scare up from the fields behind Lothering. "I got supper. Please tell me you know how to skin rabbits, because I don't."

"That's not a rabbit, that's a hare," Hawke said automatically. Anders sighed, and reached down to place the rabbit-or-hare on the dry ground next to Hawke.

Despite himself, Hawke's stomach rumbled at the prospect of fresh meat. A hare wasn't that different from a chicken, really. Hawke drew one of his smaller knives - the smooth ones for throwing, not his fighting daggers - and began to trim the twigs off a few likely branches to use as skewers. He picked up the hare to make the first cut, and something made him pause, turning it over in his hands.

He'd half expected the hare to be already burned - harecoal, really - from a fireball impact. Or if not from fire, then charred by electricity. Those were the only offensive spells that Anders knew, as far as Hawke knew. But the hare was whole, unburned, only just now losing the last of its living warmth. Hawke's searching fingers found dark, jagged wounds on the hare's back and neck, which was broken. "I didn't know you could hunt," Hawke said.  _Seems there's a lot I don't know about you._

Anders shrugged.

"I thought you said the Circle didn't teach mages any useful life skills," Hawke said, and tried to force a smile. Tried to make it a joke, and not an accusation, as every word he spoke wanted to make itself an accusation.

_You lied to me_ , shrieked unspoken behind the pale not-a-joke, and  _what else are you hiding,_  and  _how many more lies have you got?_  It wasn't fair, it wasn't  _just_ , and Hawke knew it. He knew why Anders had hidden the truth for him, in the last terrible days leading up to the destruction of the Chantry: it was clear enough, in retrospect. He trusted Hawke with his life, but  _there are some things that are more important than my life._  He hadn't been able to risk his plan - to risk the lives and the freedom of the mages - on the possibility of Hawke getting cold feet.

A part of Hawke resented that immensely, that he hadn't even been given the  _chance_  of Anders' confidence, that there had never even been the option to throw himself wholeheartedly behind the cause. As though he hadn't proven time and time again where his sympathies lay, to fight for the oppressed of Kirkwall, to fight for freedom for the mages. That he'd only ever been given the choice of joining the oppressors, or to do nothing at all. If only Anders had trusted him, really  _trusted_ him, then Hawke would have given his all: and maybe, just maybe, together they could have found another way...

But at the same time, a little suppressed voice in his ear whispered:  _You had plenty of chances. You knew what this meant to Anders, you knew he could never, ever abandon his cause._ If he had just listened when Anders talked, if he had given him true support instead of just strained patience and tolerance, then maybe Anders would not have felt so alone. Maybe Anders would not have been so desperate.

It was too much to bear, all the what-ifs and why-nots and could-have-beens, dragging off them like chains no matter how far they ran from the city full of them. Poisoning the air between them.

Anders heard it all, even unspoken, and he withdrew back into himself as he had done every time. He turned away, shadowing his face from the firelight. "I've learned a lot of things since I left the Circle," he said softly.

"Hang on," Hawke said. "Hang on. Just give me a minute. I'll get this started cooking, and then we can share." Not that there was really enough on a hare's bony frame for two grown men, but it was Anders who had provided it, and Hawke would be damned if he let his partner starve just because  _he_  was in a stew.

Anders shook his head, curling up under his coat on the other side of the fire. "I've already eaten," he said, and turned his back.

Hawke stared down at the dark jagged death-wounds on the animal's neck, and was too exhausted to even wonder.

* * *

4 -  **Outside Wildervale -**

It had been six months and things were... better. Not brilliant - they were both haggard and worn, they'd both lost weight and gained scars - but they also learned better how to take care of themselves, and of each other.

Anders supplied food; his inexplicable hunting prowess continued to bring in meat, and as the season went forward his knowledge of herbalism was able to supply them with edible plants. Hawke supplied pretty much everything else, using his proud skills of sneaking and scoundrelry to nip into villages and farmsteads and take clothes or supplies that they couldn't get otherwise. They weren't proud of it, but needs must when the Templars drive - and if said little villages and farmsteads suddenly found themselves with a surprising dearth of bandits or dangerous animals in the vicinity, then it was little enough repayment.

More importantly, they learned to trust each other again, to rely on each other and take care of one another again. That more than any amount of food or warm clothing chased the grey out of Anders skin and put the spark back in his eyes, freshened up Hawke's limbs until he no longer felt like he was moving through mud. Whatever came between them in their past, they'd both made their choices, and they chose each other.

But it had been six months, and now they stood at the bend of a road right before it descends into Wildervale, the first real city they've seen this side of the mountains. And they were arguing again. Of course.

"Garrett, love, we can camp in the wilderness till the end of the Age, but it's not going to accomplish anything," Anders said in that infuriatingly reasonable tone of his. "It's been long enough. We've got to get back on the horse, get in contact with people and get things done. Wildervale used to be the center of operations for the mage collective -"

" - which is why it's overrun with  _templars_ now!" Hawke interrupted him, as he had said many times before. As far as he was concerned, that was reason enough to keep Anders far away from the place. "Maker's breath, they've got your face on every chantry board from here to Rivain! You're not going to get five steps in that city before someone recognizes you!"

Anders sighed, and Hawke hated that he sounded so tired, even if he knew rationally it wasn't his fault. "I started a war, Garrett," he said. "I pushed the mages to rebel, to fight for their freedom. I can't be so much of a coward now as to sit back and hide without helping them claim it. My safety isn't worth that."

"Well, you're not the only one who has a say in your safety," Hawke growled. "Forget it."

Anders took another deep breath, this time holding it instead of letting it out in a sigh, and his hands plucked restlessly at the frayed ends of his sleeve. "There might... be another way," he said, and Hawke realized with surprise that he was actually nervous. "A way for you to move around in town without... me being with you."

Alarm shot through Hawke and was gone, but it was enough to make him grab Anders' sleeve and pull him forward. "You are  _not_  running off and leaving me alone," he snapped. "We've had this conversation. Scorch it, we've run it into the bloody ground. I'm not going anywhere  _without you."_

"No, no, it's not like that," Anders assured him. "It's more like... Andraste's knickerweasels, this is hard to say. Now. After all this time. Can... can I just... show you something?"

Hawke narrowed his eyes, not yet releasing Anders' elbow. "Go ahead," he said.

"You have to let go of me, Garrett." Anders said, a touch of teasing humor returning to his voice. "And... turn around."

Hawke didn't find it funny. Not when Anders had said again and again that he should leave, let Hawke get back to his life championing or whatever else it was Anders thought he should do (which Hawke could have told him was exactly as much trouble and pain as this life, but without the benefit of Anders.) But if the last six months had taught them anything, it was how important it was to trust one another again. Anders wanted to tell him something - show him something - that he'd kept a secret for all this time. That was a huge expression of trust... and he needed Hawke to trust him first.

He turned around. He heard Anders shuffle and cough, take another one of those deep breaths as though to steel himself for a plunge into cold water.

Then, for a moment, it was like he  _had_  plunged into cold water - a wash of sensation over his back and shoulders that he had come to associate with magic. Hawke tensed. "Can I turn around now?" he asked, voice on edge.

No answer. That didn't help Hawke's nerves.  _Well, he didn't say I **couldn't** ,_ Hawke excused himself, and turned to look.

Sitting on the ground, in the same place Anders had been standing, was a small orange-and-white cat. Its muzzle and paws and chest were white, the rest of it red with faint brindled stripes, and its eyes were a clear honey gold. The cat looked up at Hawke, settling back on its haunches, and blinked slowly.

"You're... a cat," Hawke said slowly, stuttering his way to the obvious conclusion. "The cat is  _you_. The cat is - Maker, I've been such an  _idiot_. "

Hawke smacked himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand. The cat, apparently concerned by his tendency towards self-violence, stood up and trotted over to him, rubbing the side of its face against Hawke's leg. The cat was  _Anders_. Anders could actually turn himself into a cat. And that explained -

"The spiders in Darktown," Hawke realized, mind racing over too many events in the past six years that had been inexplicable at the time. "The - the map of the Wounded Coast, the crow. That was  _you_. You caught hares in the forest as a wolf. I can't believe I didn't see it earlier. How long have you been able to do this?  _How_  are you even doing this?"

There was a disorienting shimmer in the air, as though massive waves of heat were coming off a patch of road, before Anders was standing in front of him again, reaching out to touch his arm. "As long as you've known me," Anders admitted. "The - back during the Blight, Solona knew a Chasind apostate who had the power to take on animal shapes. The witch taught Solona the knack of it, and when I was with her in Amaranthine, she taught me."

"I'm not sure whether you're extraordinarily good at keeping secrets, or I'm just incredibly dense," Hawke said.

Anders chuckled ruefully, shaking his head. "Well - it's not exactly the first explanation you would leap to, is it?" he said. Then his smile faded. "I had to hide it, Garrett. No one could know. It was my last line of defense, my final route of escape if I was cornered. If the Templars knew, if there were even rumors about it - I wouldn't be able to hide from them. They'd just kill every animal that they saw until they got the right one."

Hawke got that. He really, really did, but - "Well, all right," he said, "but when you say 'no one' - I mean - did you really think I'd spill your secrets? Sell you out to the Templars?" Hurt crept into his voice despite all his effort to be flippant.

Anders bit his lip, his gaze dropping. "I didn't think that," he mumbled. "It's just... I was... there were already so many things about me that were strange - that were wrong. Mage. Apostate. Tainted. Abomination. The last thing I wanted was for you... for you, of all people, to see me as something less than human."

Hawke had no idea how to respond to that. His first impulse - 'Anders, of all the things that are scary about you, you turning into an adorable pussycat is probably  **last**  on that list' - would probably not go over well. "I love cats," was what he managed instead, weak as it was. "I've always loved cats."

Anders' expression hovered somewhere between amused and appalled. "No, I'm pretty sure you're more of a dog person," he said. "Thanks for the effort, though."

Hawke sighed and took a half-step forward, bringing him close into Anders' personal space. He rested one hand on the back of Anders' neck, bringing him in close. "Anders, nothing you are, nothing you do will ever make you any less in my eyes," he said. "All the things you listed don't make you less than human - they make you great. An incredible  _person_  who has struggled and won over more adventures than anyone else. Now I find out that you have a special talent that lets you soar through the sky, or walk unseen, a power that most mages never even dream of, and you expect me to be put off? Love, I do believe you will be continuing to astonish me until I'm old and grey. Because you're definitely not getting rid of me anytime sooner than that."

Anders leaned into him, trembling like a leaf, and buried his face in Hawke's shoulder. Hawke hugged him tight, petting his hair, and wondered if it would feel the same as petting the cat's fur. Or the wolf's fur, for that matter. He'd definitely pass on petting the spider, though come to think of it...

"So do you have other forms, or just those four?" Hawke asked aloud, pulling back far enough to eye Anders in sudden keen speculation. "How about dragons? Could you turn into a dragon?"

"... _no,_  Garrett," Anders said, huffing a laugh. "You can't just turn into any animal you like. You have to study them - you have to understand them, how they move, how they work. That's why spiders were first, for me - there were so many of them around the clinic, I got plenty of chances. Same with the crows - they were always hanging around the Darktown cliffs, looking for trash to eat or... But I doubt I'm going to get many chances for extended up-close and personal observation with a dragon."

"But you  _might,"_  Hawke said, seizing on the opportunity immediately. "Seems like you're getting better every time. You could work your way  _up_  to dragons."

"Garrett!" Anders laughed. "What is it with you and dragons?"

"C'mon, you have to admit it would be amazing," Hawke wheedled. "You could take out half of Sebastian's army in one swoop!"

"Swooping is bad, Garrett."

"I could ride you. It would be awesome." Hawke leered at him, only a little bit exaggerated.

Anders rolled his eyes. "I don't have to be a dragon for  _that_ ," he said, a certain gleam in his eye as he smiled.

Hawke blushed. He couldn't help it, he always did when one of his dirty jokes got turned around on him. One would think that after being with Anders together for going on five years, he would have gotten over it, but apparently not.

Before he could embarrass himself - or either of them, by giving into the temptation to take Anders up on his offer right there on the road - he was rescued by the sound of voices and footsteps on the road behind them, coming up on the bend. Anders and Hawke exchanged a look, and then the same nauseating blur repeated itself and the marmalade cat was back.

Anders clawed at Hawke's boot top, then meowed demandingly. "I take it that's 'pick me up, the mud is too deep here for my delicate paws,' " Hawke joked, and carefully reached down to lift the cat-Anders up. It was strange - he still  _smelled_  like Anders, not like the cats Hawke had known, but presumably Templars wouldn't pick up on a detail like that.

For a moment, he wasn't quite sure where to grip that wouldn't be uncomfortable, but then Anders dove into Hawke's open backpack and the problem was solved. Just in time - the voices sharpened right before a party of travelers rounded the bend, passing courteous nods to Hawke as they tromped down towards Wildervale. "Well, we might as well get started," Hawke said, hitching his backpack a little higher so that the cat could peek out and see where they were going. "Just a man and his cat out to see the world, nothing suspicious here at all."

A strange noise sounded in Hawke's right ear, and it was a moment before he recognized it as Anders purring at him. Hawke reached back to give him an ear-scritch, and Anders rubbed against his hand.

"You realize I'm going to need to find something to call you?" Hawke said. "At least when we're in company. Let's see, I already used 'Apostate' for my mabari. 'Abomination' might be a little inauspicious. Ow!" That last was because Anders had given up rubbing against him to bite his hand. Hard.

"...Let's just go with 'darling' for now," Hawke suggested, and Anders purred agreement.

* * *

~end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic idea was inspired by Awakening, in which you can spec Anders as any of the Origins mage specializations -- including shapeshifter. I made my Anders a shapeshifter as a joke, mostly because I never intended to use him as anything other than a healer so the other options (arcane warrior or blood mage) didn't appeal.
> 
> That talent tree is all gone by Dragon Age II, of course, but the idea lingered. Especially when I thought "Of course -- that's how he manages to get around Darktown without ever being caught by the Templars! He can turn into a spider and blend right in!" and this fic was born.
> 
> [Pics of what Anders' animal forms might look like!](http://mikkeneko.tumblr.com/post/128334308794/anders-shapeshift-forms-human-red-wolf)


	2. Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Inquisition coda to the MUTABLE setting, that I didn't think really needed to stand on its own.

  **5 - Skyhold**

“It’s a nice place, this Skyhold,” Hawke remarks as they walk a slow inside circuit of the wall. “Reminds me of Kirkwall, but a lot less… blood and mayhem and demons coming out of the walls.”

“A lot less broken,” Varric muttered, and the two old friends studiously avoid each other’s gazes for a moment. The Inquisitor walks a little more quickly, trying not to get caught in the middle.

“Well, it’s not much, but it’s home for now,” he says. “Here’s where we’re staging the wounded… at least until we can get a room inside cleaned up to the surgeon’s standards. This is usually where you can go to find… Ah, Cole, there you are.” He comes to a stop, beaming at the vision before him. “I was going to introduce you to our new friends, but I see you’ve already made one!”

The young blond man sits cross-legged on the edge of the wall, basking in a beam of sunlight. Curled in his lap, head canted to accept its due of head-scritches, is a scruffy orange tabby. Scattered on the ground before them are dishes of milk, and the bones remaining of some chicken lunch. It’s an adorable picture, and the Inquisitor has no idea why behind him, Varric and Hawke both suddenly go rigid as statues.

Hawke starts to surge forward, but Varric holds him back. “Now, now, nothing to worry about,” he chuckles nervously. “We’re all friends here…”

“Cole’s a little strange, but he means well,” the Inquisitor helpfully explains. “He’s a spirit, and we don’t know quite how or why he came to be in the material world, but he does genuinely seem to want nothing more than to help people who are in pain.”

“What’s he doing to… that cat?” Hawke chokes out.

“Nothing, I’m sure. Nothing at all,” Varric says, and shoots the spirit an anxious look. “Cole’s a good kid, he’s kind to everyone, especially… cats.”

The Inquisitor glances at them, a faint frown of confusion on his face. In Cole’s lap, the tabby raises its head and opens a pair of startlingly amber eyes. It looks directly at Hawke and gives him a slow blink, then turns itself around and fluffs out a ratty tail before settling back down in Cole’s lap.

“Small paws, fur coat to hide the soul inside,” Cole says in his usual abrupt, cryptic way. Despite the abstracted tone of voice, there’s a smile on his face as he strokes the cat’s ears, runs a gentle touch down the silky fur from head to tail. “Everything’s bigger like this, but it’s simpler, too. It doesn’t hurt so much. Warm sun on the stones, full belly, the comfort of a kindly touch. Just for today, it’s all right. It’s all right.”

Hawke slowly relaxes, hand uncurling around the shaft of his weapon. “Well, if everything’s… all right,” he says, his voice still a little strange. “Then I’ll just – see you later, then. Later tonight.”

“I suppose so?” the Inquisitor says, confused. “Is… this your pet, Champion?”

Varric clears his throat. “Can a cat ever truly be said to belong to anyone?” he says philosophically. “But yes, that furball is the Champion’s… little friend.”

“I was just a little – surprised; normally he doesn’t let anyone but me touch him,” Hawke says, staring at the picture of cat and boy with an almost jealous dismay.

“Wherever he goes, I will follow; he’s given up too much for me. Miss him, miss his hands and his warmth, but I’ll stay like this while he’s busy with important things. Wounded, always everywhere wounded, need to reach out and help –” Cole starts up again.

“Let’s keep moving, shall we?” Varric propels their little party hastily on their way. “Lots more to see, and I’m sure we don’t want to take up Cole’s time, or deplete his daily quota of cryptic pronouncements.”

Somewhat bewildered, the Inquisitor lets himself be shepherded along, although his keen hearing doesn’t miss the hissing argument Varric and Hawke have in whispers behind him. _“What’d you go and bring **him** for?” “He wouldn’t stay behind! It shouldn't have been a problem. I wasn’t expecting mysterious embodied spirit shenanigans!” “Well, birds of a feather, I suppose…”_

Behind them on the stairs, in the sun, the strange pair remains; boy and cat and much, much more, but for now the cat yawns, tucks his dry and scarred nose against the strangely soothing warmth of the spirit’s hand, and begins to purr.

* * *

 

~end


End file.
